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Wolves And Shattered Shields	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 2426 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse, nor do I write this story for profit.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Of course, the peace would not last. As time passed, Graznikh began to feel more and more restless. Now he could feel the strange pull clearly, and it grew stronger. As Whindaër asked where it came from, he pointed to the east.
”It's fucking scary,” he growled one night. ”If you blindfolded me, spun me around and told me to walk, I'd walk east. If all Orcs feel like this, I wouldn't be surprised if all the strongholds are empty when I return. If I return,” he added. ”I might be walking east in my sleep soon if this continues.”
Whindaër watched him with fearful eyes as he glanced eastward.
”I heard something years ago, a rumour Bardoc mentioned. I didn't really pay attention, but he said something about something big being built somewhere far to the east, in Burzdur.”
”The Black Land? I have heard that it is a desolate place. Why would anyone want to build anything there?”
”Maybe someone who doesn't like company.” He grinned. ”But you were going to say something, weren't ya? Before I interrupted.”
Whindaër nodded. ”I must return to the haven, briefly at the very least. I have been gone for half a year, and I fear that they will soon begin looking if I do not show myself.”
Graznikh scowled. ”If ya have to... But I don't like ya leaving, not now. If you're not around to keep an eye on me, I... This pull isn't easy to live with.”
”I know,” Whindaër said. ”I shall return as soon as I am able.”

The haven seemed busier than usual when Whindaër entered the gate. There were three large swanships in the harbour, carrying the banner of Mithlond. Theolas rose from his chair as Whindaër entered his home.
”Still studying, uncle?” She asked as she embraced him.
”Always, dear,” he replied with a warm smile. ”I am glad you have returned to us. I was beginning to worry. Falastur is out with the border patrols, but he will rejoin us by the end of the week. Please join me; I was just about to eat.”
”Why are there ships from Mithlond in the harbour?” she asked as she sat down by the table.
”Ereinion Gil-Galad sent them with supplies. I do not know why. Perhaps it has something to do with the trouble in Eregion and he wanted us to be well stocked if the supply lines by land are interrupted.”
”What trouble?” Whindaër frowned.
Theolas looked up from his plate. ”Ah, I forgot you have not heard.” He frowned, and Whindaër saw deep worry in his eyes. ”The Smiths of Eregion have been deceived. Their tutor, whom they called Annatar, has been revealed; it is Gorthaur, the lieutenant of Angband of old. Morgoth's most feared commander.” He put his fork down. ”I fear it is only a matter of time now. I fear war.”
Whindaër remembered her father's words and the pull on Graznikh's mind. ”Uncle, there is something you must-”
”Whindaër!” Falastur entered the dining room and gave her a hug. ”I have missed you, sister! How were the mountains?”
Whindaër forced herself to smile. ”They were lovely, as always.”
"You return early," Theolas pointed out. "Were you not to patrol until Aldúya?"
"We were," Falastur replied, "but strange things made us return early to report." he turned to Whindaër. ”Did you perchance see any Orcs?”
Whindaër paled slightly and glanced at Theolas, who frowned and, barely visibly, shook his head.
”A few, but I kept my distance. Why do you ask?”
Falastur shrugged. ”They all seem to have disappeared from the western mountains, and Sairion told me he has received reports of large groups moving eastward. There is a council being held later this week.” He looked to Theolas. ”Will you go, uncle?”
Theolas declined. ”I am no strategist, and will gladly leave such decisions to others. But sit, eat! There is enough for us all.”
That night, Whindaër woke as the darkness surged through the bond. She gritted her teeth against the pain and reached out, but received only a brief sensation of grief and pain before Graznikh shut her out.

Graznikh hissed as Tarnakh's fist connected with his gut. Then his head was yanked back by the hair. He growled and bared his fangs in a defiant grimace, unable to do much else as his arms were securely bound to a tree.
”This is what you've been doin' all this time? Ditchin' tribe and band to roll in the woods with a bloody golug?!” Graznikh had never seen Tarnakh so angry.
”What does it fucking matter? I've been killing and looting alongside y'all this time too, unless you've forgotten! I never ditched ya!” His lip split as Tarnakh backhanded him.
”You little shit! I should've let ya have it when you let that prisoner go and killed the patrol!”
Graznikh frowned. ”You-”
”-Knew about that?” Tarnakh leaned in close with a dangerous grin. ”Oh yes. The only reason the chief didn't have ya flayed alive is because I covered yer sorry ass for ya. I've been keeping an eye on ya ever since you came back from that first little stroll, stinkin' of golug from your smallclothes and up.” Graznikh's guilty stare made him growl. ”Ya fuckin' little traitor.”
”I never betrayed anyone,” Graznikh growled back. ”I tried to turn her over to our side!” Another punch cut his defense short.
”I don't want no bloody Elf in the band, you sick fuck!!” Graznikh grew dizzy as he was slowly throttled. Tarnakh lowered his voice to a hiss. ”If I ever catch ya out of sight again, if you so much as try to take a piss out of view, I'll hunt ya down an' kill ya myself!” He bashed Graznikh's head against the tree as he let go. Graznikh gasped for air and fought the dizziness. Pissing Tarnakh off was the most terrifying thing he knew. He felt a gentle touch through the bond and closed his eyes. Not this time, âmbal. I'm sorry. The terror in question slowly turned and drew a knife and Graznikh's breath caught in his sore throat.
”Call me stupid,” Tarnakh growled, ”call me soft. But you've got one last chance at life. Don't disappoint me.” With that, he cut the rope around Graznikh's wrists. You are soft, Graznikh thought rebelliously as he got up. After all, you let the Elf go. And when she picks up your trail, you're done for. He dearly hoped Whindaër would follow. You're not a kitten anymore, are ya âmbal? I already owe ya for saving my ugly hide once. If you do it again, I swear I won't leave ya again. I'll go to that haven of yours and be your faithful little snaga for the rest of my life.
As Graznikh was allowed to retrieve his knives, an intense pulse washed over him. The strange pull became a roar inside his head, red clouded his vision as he stumbled. Tarnakh obviously felt the same thing, because he turned eastward with a delighted grin. ”It's time.”
”What's going on?” Graznikh asked as his vision cleared.
”Big things're happening off east. We're leavin' tonight.” Graznikh dared a brief touch of the bond. I'm so, so sorry!

”This will not stand!” The scout paced back and forth as he spoke. The council had gone on for some time and the discussions had already been heated a few times.
”The logging operations keep intruding on our borders. The Andrast will soon be nothing but grass and dead stumps if they continue like this!”
Some of the council members frowned. The reports that came in from the west were more and more disturbing. The Men of Elenna, who called themselves Númenoreans, grew ever bolder and more arrogant. They had long been harvesting lumber from the shores surrounding the haven, but previously they had done so with restraint and never without seeking advice from the Eldar who dwelled on the shores. Now they were clearcutting large swaths of land, forcing both wildlife and forest dwellers to seek new homes. There had even been talk of them raiding and burning the villages of the fishermen and foragers in the northwest.
”We dare not risk open conflict with Nùmenor,” one of the elders said. Another scowled.
”Celebrimbor will not hear us. He cares only for his craft. Ereinion Gil-Galad may listen to our plight.”
”The Men of the mountains are hostile and unlovely,” one of the younger council members said. ”Why should we protect them?”
”As primitive as they may be, we have no quarrel with them. They leave us alone as we leave them in turn. But Númenor threatens both our homes. That is reason enough,” Falastur said.
”Even the unlovely have a place in this world,” Whindaër said quietly. "It does not fall to us to judge who has the right to exist." Falastur gave her an odd glance, but nodded.
”That is not all,” Sairion said. ”Large Orc bands are seen roving east of here, near the Anduin. Never before have they amassed in such numbers. They will be a real threat to us soon.”
”We do not have the power to fight on two fronts at once.”
”Númenor has never threatened us! We should not seek their ire.”
”No,” the elder said. ”We should not. We do not have the mandate, as Ereinion Gil-Galad still holds them in high regard. These Orcs though, they worry me. What do we know of them?”
”Not much, I am afraid to say. We know that the smiths of Eregion were decieved; the man who called himself Annatar was in truth Gorthaur, lieutenant of Morgoth. The Orcs are servants of evil, there may be a connection.”
Whindaër wondered if Graznikh was among them. The bond felt dull and distant, meaning that he was far away. ”Then we should investigate.”
Falastur nodded slowly. ”My sister is right. The Orcs are the greater threat.”
”I will go,” Whindaër said. ”I am familiar with the area and can track them without being seen.”
Sairion nodded. ”Indeed. Falastur, will you accompany her?”
Whindaër opened her mouth to protest, but Falastur nodded. ”I will.”
”Are you sure of this?” Whindaër asked later. ”The clinking of your armour will be heard over half of Eriador.”
Falastur smiled. ”Think you that I cannot be silent when I wish it?”
”I seem to remember a certain time when silence would have been prudent.”
Falastur scowled. ”I was tied to a tree while an Orc was chasing you. At such times, I would think shouting for aid was the more prudent thing to do.” He frowned. ”But what of you? You have had run-ins with Orcs before.”
”I was a child at the time, brother. Be assured, I too know how to keep quiet. And I have studied Orcs and their movements since; I may be able to gather information that others might miss.”
Falastur snorted. ”Studied them, indeed. Why?”
”Curiosity.” She filled her quiver with newly fletched arrows. ”Knowing your enemy makes them appear less fearsome when you eventually face them.”
She froze as Falastur suddenly leaned in close behind her. ”Every time you leave the haven,” he whispered, ”Orcs attack you. From the very first time, until now. And every time you return from the mountains, you reek of Orc filth. I know you try to scrub yourself clean of it.” She slowly turned to face him. ”And now you volunteer to venture straight into their main camp. What is happening to you, sister? Why are you so eager to seek them out?”
”Because I hate them,” Whindaër hissed.
But Falastur only shook his head with a grim smile. ”There is no hate in you, sister. Not when you leave, not when you return. I have seen the eyes of those who hate, and it is not in yours.” His smile faded. ”You have never spoken of this bond which you share with another.”
”Nor will I ever. It is best left forgotten. I wish others would see this as well.” Falastur watched her back with a concerned, fearful frown as she left.
A few days later, Whindaër and Falastur were nearing the enemy camp. It was much closer than the council had believed. What had first been thought of as roving Orc bands were the scouts sent out by a much larger force, such as had not been seen since...
”It is almost like the War of Wrath all over again,” Falastur whispered as they peered above the edge on the outcropping where they hid. The enemy army was vast, stretching almost to the horizon. The land surrounding the camp was burned and devastated, not a single spot of green could be seen anywhere. They remained on the ledge for a while, trying to get a grasp of whatever could be amassing such a force.
A shadow, quick and quiet, crouched beside them.
”Pretty, eh?” Graznikh said in a hushed voice. ”Pity 'bout the trees though.” Two pairs of blue Elven eyes stared at him. ”What?”
The whispering sound of a drawn sword was heard and Whindaër grabbed Falastur's arm just before the stroke fell. ”No!”
Falastur managed to tear his eyes from the Orc to stare at his sister instead. ”No?!”
”There is no need for bloodshed. Please.”
Falastur stared at her. Then he frowned and looked into her eyes as if for the first time. Then he slowly, reluctantly, turned to look at Graznikh, who winked at him. Then he promptly turned around, bent over and threw up.
”Well, that's a way of saying 'hello' that I haven't seen before,” Graznikh muttered. ”Is this an Elvish thing?” He hugged the ashen-faced Whindaër. ”It's okay,” he whispered. ”I'm here now. I got your back.”
Falastur coughed and wiped his mouth before standing up. ”What,” he gasped, ”have you done with my sister, you monster?!”
”What, you didn't know? You just saw an Orc and went 'blaaargh'?” Graznikh put his blade back in the sheath. "Some warrior you are." He grinned at the white-faced Falastur and gave Whindaër a wink. Then he became serious. ”We need to talk. Let's go.”
”You cannot be serious!” Falastur hissed while grabbing Whindaër's arm. ”You would follow this fiend? He may as well lead us into a trap!”
”If I wanted to kill ya, I'd just call the patrols down on your arses,” Graznikh whispered. ”But I don't. Now let's go, before the patrols find us anyway and we all die.”
Half an hour and many explanations later, they were crouching inside an abandoned farmstead.
”That glare just doesn't cut it,” Graznikh told Falastur. ”Your uncle is a much better glarer, and even he gave in to my charms eventually.”
”You will not have the pleasure of corrupting me, filth,” Falastur hissed. ”Would that I could run my sword through your wretched mouth!”
”Ah, but if you do that your poor sister will fade and die. You want that?”
”This 'bond' is an abomination that should not be. Better that she grieve and go into the West than continue to exist in this perverse state!”
”You have no right to say or do such things,” Whindaër said sternly and turned to Graznikh. ”How did you find us?”
Graznikh grinned at her. ”You know that already. Why'd you bring that one? Has he gone rogue too?”
”I have not-”
Falastur glared at her, mortified. ”Is this why you did not wish for me to follow you? Because you knew that he would be waiting for you? Did you mean to pleasure yourself with this filth while the haven burned and we were all slaughtered?”
Graznikh spun and leapt at him with a bellow. Falastur had no time to draw his sword before he was pinned to the wall with an Orc blade at his throat.
”Go on,” Graznikh said with the calm and charge of a gathering storm. ”Keep talking like that.”
Falastur spat him in the face. Graznikh shook, fighting the black rage that welled up inside him. He barely managed to withdraw and sheathed his blade with a ragged gasp.
”You wanna know why I won't kill ya?” he asked Falastur through gritted teeth, while the Elf stared at him with pure, unbridled hate in his eyes. ”Because if I did, your sister would cry over your sorry corpse! And unlike you, I love her and I don't wanna see her cry.” Whindaër gasped.
Falastur walked up to Whindaër. ”I am leaving this place. I will return to the haven and I will tell them what I have seen and heard today. I will not hide your dark secret!”
”Then we'll have to kill ya,” Graznikh said quietly. Falastur stared at him, then turned to Whindaër. She was looking at Graznikh, who met her eyes briefly.
”No protest?” Falastur said to her. ”No 'let us live in peace'? Not even a 'please do not'? You would let this Orc kill your own brother?”
Whindaër stood still, her eyes closed. Now that he was close, Graznikh could feel the bond clearly and hated the he-Elf all the more for the pain he caused his âmbal.
Falastur took a step back when Whindaër did not reply. Then another, eyes darting back and forth between her and the Orc, whose red eyes suddenly seemed to burn. They seemed to be having a silent conversation of some kind. He felt a chill as the word came unbidden to him – sanwë-latya. No...
”Go.” Falastur frowned.
”Go,” Graznikh repeated with a growl, ”both of ya. And tell your leaders this: the army is led by the Dark Lord of Lugburz himself. You have no chance of defending your home against this. Anyone who isn't north of the mountains by nightfall will die.”
Graznikh swallowed hard and gave Whindaër a heartbroken glance. ”Goodbye âmbal,” he whispered. Then he disappeared through the door before she had a chance to speak.
”I am glad that mother and father are here no longer,” Falastur said as they headed towards the haven. ”I am glad that they did not have to suffer this.”
”You need not worry,” Whindaër said coolly. ”They already know.”
Falastur stopped. ”What?!”
”I told mother the evening before she left. If she ever told father, it was long after they were gone from here.” She looked down. ”Still, I am glad they are not here. I doubt that this will end well.”
”And... Uncle Theolas?”
”He knew first of all. Graznikh saved him from the torture he was subjected to.”
”He must have been delusional. Why would an Orc do that?”
Whindaër gave him a chilly glance. ”Perhaps for same reason he came to warn us.”
Falastur hesitated, then he caught up with Whindaër as she continued walking.
”When did this happen? And how?” He took her arm as she did not reply. ”Will you not even give me an answer, instead leaving me in bewilderment and horror?”
”Would the horror be less if you knew?”
”I do not know.”
Whindaër stopped. ”It happened after the ambush on the caravan. This was the Orc that caught me and held me captive. I chose this path because I feared death. I did not know at the time what kind of other path my decision would set me upon.”
”You... chose this?” Falastur closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. Then he frowned. ”This Orc... was the one who ambushed us, was it not? In the forest.”
Whindaër nodded and Falastur began to understand. ”And the time you fell ill... That was because of it?”
”Because of him, yes. He was gravely injured and close to death. But he survived.”
His expression darkened. ”And every time I saw you watching the mountains, you thought of it. You missed it, as one would miss a-... a spouse. You have been a traitor for a very long time.”
Whindaër spun to face him. ”I have betrayed no one but myself,” she hissed.
”Have you not? Had you told us of this when first you returned, things would have been different! We could have severed the bond before it became strong! But you have let the Orcs have a silver cord straight into the heart of our home, you have let them corrupt everything! And now we shall all pay for it!”
”That is not true, and you know it! If I had told anyone, our parents would have had me locked up in a golden cage and Sairion would have sent hunters to kill him! And how dare you accuse me of Annatar's betrayal?! I had nothing to do with it!”
”This is no primitive Avari,” Falastur shouted, ”No Man or Dwarf. This is an Orc! Of all the vile creatures beneath the Shadow, Orcs are the worst! They revel in nothing save the death and destruction of others!”
”You have never even spoken to one save for curses and battle-cries, what would you know of their minds?!”
”Enough to understand the suffering their perverted and corrupted existence have caused throughout the ages!” His expression suddenly changed from anger to worry. ”Tell me sister, when you lay together with it, did you never feel darkness emanating from its touch? Was there light and beauty in it, or violence and perversion?”
Whindaër opened her mouth to reply a few times, but there was only silence. Falastur's words had hit home. He embraced her with a grief-stricken expression. ”I do not want you to die,” he whispered, ”But neither can I stand aside and watch you fall. You cannot save him, dear sister, as much as we wish it was otherwise the Orcs are beyond redemption.”
Whindaër remained silent. After a while, they began walking towards the haven again.
”Do you believe what that Orc told us?”
Whindaër nodded. ”The bond cannot lie. His fear was real, as is the darkness that pulls at him. Even now I can feel it.”
”What if it affects you too? You could be a liability in the coming siege.”
”Siege?” Whindaër stopped. ”Falastur, what siege? You saw the army, there were trolls and siege weaponry! Our walls are decorations, they are not for defence. We would be overrun in the first assault!”
Falastur placed his hands upon her shoulders in an attempt to reassure her. ”Let greater minds than ours worry about that. We report what we have seen and leave it at that.”
She shrugged. ”Report what you will. I... need to rest for a moment.”
Whindaër never found out what Falastur told the council. When she woke up from a nightmare, darkness had already fallen. As she was putting her armour on, a clarion horncall rang out over the city. It was answered with other horns, deeper and more ominous. Then the sound of war drums rolled in from the east. The siege had begun.
When Whindaër entered the streets, she found them empty. The city felt eerily quiet. Did they leave me behind? As she neared the main square, shouting could be heard. Falastur and Sairion turned to watch her approach.
”Whindaër. I am glad to see you are well,” Sairion said. ”We did not wish to wake you. Your brother said that you had a difficult journey.”
”My brother is too kind,” she said. ”But I am well, considering the circumstances. What is the council's decision?”
”It is as you said,” Falastur replied. ”We cannot hope to defend the haven or repel an army this large. What we can do is delay it and buy the refugees time. I do not believe the haven is the main target, but every hour we can keep them occupied is an hour bought for the refugees and the realms to the north.”
”Dark magic is in the air,” Sairion said. ”These clouds are not natural. They are trying to weaken us with despair. We must not falter.”
Falastur leaned closer. ”How are you holding up?” he whispered as soon as the captain was out of hearing range.
”Better than I thought that I would. What of you? Are you still angry with me?”
Falastur nodded gravely. ”But this may be our last night on these shores. If all goes ill, Mandos will be our judge.” Then he looked to the Sea with a griefstricken expression; on the horizon, flames could be seen. The ships were lost, as were all those aboard them.

As the meager walls were breached and the battle began in earnest, Graznikh realised how much he had missed it all. There were no consequences here save life or death, his only task to let his blades bite deep into unguarded flesh, to survive to fight another night or take as many with him as possible if he did not. Some influence that was not his own was feeding his bloodlust, but he did not care anymore. This was life. This was a real battle!
As his current opponent went down, he sliced the Elf's throat and revelled in the sight of crimson staining his hand and blade. Then he spun to face the next one, only to find himself alone and the small square deserted. As he pondered his next move, he heard the whispering sound of soft leather shoes against smooth stone. Graznikh leered as he turned around. The armourclad Elf watched him from the other side of the square. He could smell no fear. A seasoned warrior then, he thought. One who won't give in to despair so easily. This will be good!
His adversary carried a glaive. Graznikh had never stood against a weapon like that before, but he did not care. He would find a breach. The Elf was lightly armoured, thick steel-reinforced leather covering its upper body, arms, and legs. It wore a helmet in similar fashion, but the lower body was covered only with soft wool and linen apart from the greaves. Clad for speed, he thought as they slowly began circling each other. He gave the Elf a wicked grin, baring his fangs in an attempt to intimidate. He was rewarded with a small smile. Still no fear.
He barely had time to block as the Elf attacked. Three quick hits, then it retreated to its former position. Graznikh cursed at himself for not being able to see that coming. Like a bloody beginner! He made the next attack and the Elf backed away, not letting him close enough to reach with his blades. Graznikh jumped to avoid having his legs knocked out from under him by the glaive. That was the backside, he noted. Why not use the blade?
Several clashes later, he was becoming seriously annoyed. The Elf countered his every move, every feint and dirty trick seemed to be known before he even executed them. It also retorted with some tricks of its own. Does this bastard read my mind? He thought as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. What the fuck is this? The Elf paced, still watching him with those calm eyes. There was no hate there, no fear, no anger, no threat. Nothing he could use. He growled as he felt something waver inside him. The Elf tilted its head slightly, as if listening to something. Then it attacked, and it was then Graznikh realised that it had been toying with him and that he had been played for a fool all along. He caught the glaive blade with one of his knives, but the Elf twisted the glaive and his weapon fell to the ground with a clang. He took a hard blow to the side of his head, shortly after that his second blade flew away from him. The Elf finished it by handing him a spinning kick to the guts, then one to the crotch.
”Bloody unfair,” he whimpered as he went down. Gasping for air and steeling himself against the pain, Graznikh turned his head to face his death. But death never came. The Elf simply stood there, watching him with an expression that looked like... sorrow?
It stepped aside and waited until he got back on his feet, then simply watched as he retrieved his blades. He held them in his hands, feeling the weight of the rawhide hilts. Then he turned to stare at the Elf. He felt something again, stronger this time. The Elf frowned for the first time. Then a spear of ice shattered the darkness.
Whindaër put all her will and resolve into breaking through the taint that was blocking the bond. The sensation as it budged and stretched made her fëa twist, but she pressed on. The kick seemed to weaken the resistance for a moment and she pierced through. As the bond opened wide, the taint flooded her mind, roaring in her blood and threatened to strangle her fëa into nothing.
”I told ya to fucking leave,” Graznikh growled as she fell to her knees with a groan. The red haze that had all but consumed his mind was gone, for now.
”There can be no leavetaking now,” Whindaër said between gritted teeth. ”The Enemy were waiting for the ships just outside the river's mouth. We were caught between the jaws of the trap long before the siege had even begun.” Now that the bond was clear, Graznikh could feel the intense fear and despair that he had not been able to even get a whiff of before. That's some serious self-control.
”All of those who fled are dead, drowned or burned. We who stayed behind to delay the inevitable are all that are left. And soon there will be none. It will end in darkness.”
”Then come with me,” Graznikh whispered as the sound of battle came closer. ”Ditch the weaklings and come with me. I'll cook something up to get ya outta here alive. We can go to the East, far away from all this, find our own little corner of the world where we can be together. Nothing'll part us again, nothing!”
Whindaër gave him an incredulous look. ”You ask me to abandon my home-”
”A home that'll burn soon!”
”-my family-”
”A family who ditched you years ago!”
”-and my friends-”
”What kind of friends? Your brother wants to see ya dead rather than happy!”
”-and sell myself to the Shadow like a common whore-”
”That Shadow could save your life!!” Graznikh roared. ”Don't you think I've felt it? You're fading, Whin, you're dying already!”
Their argument was cut short as a group of elven warriors ran into the square. They stopped short as they spotted Whindaër and Graznikh. Graznikh acted on pure instinct and grabbed his âmbal from behind, placing a blade against her throat. ”You'll have to trust me on this one,” he whispered and growled at the warriors. Whindaër felt his reassurance through the bond and relaxed a little. He was only bluffing.
If the wind had not swept it in her direction, she would not even have noticed the soft creak of a bow being drawn. The archer sat in the shadows on top of a low tower. It was far away, but there was no time to think. Let it be your strength and not your weakness. In one fluid move, Whindaër kicked Graznikh's legs out from under him, took the knife, spun and threw.
The arrow missed its mark, whistling past where Graznikh had stood a moment before and broke on the cobblestones. The knife did not. Falastur stared in disbelief at the hilt protruding from his chest, then he lifted his head and looked at Whindaër with the sorrow of ages in his eyes. He stumbled as a trickle of blood ran down his chin, and he fell.
Graznikh shook his head to clear it and wiped his broken lip. What just happened? Then he noticed the cries of outrage and the pure shock coming in waves through the bond. He looked at Whindaër who bled from her throat where his blade had sliced her, then at the chip in the stone where the arrow had hit. Then he recognised the body on the ground on the other side of the square and the red haze returned. A grin spread on his face as the meaning of her recent action dawned on him.
”You killed him?” he whispered to the perplexed Elf. ”You just killed your own brother to save my life?” He could barely contain the sick glee. A small part of his mind told him that this was not very good, that he was not supposed to feel like this, but he shut it out. He tugged at the bond but there was no response. Whindaër only stared blankly at nothing at all. I guess she's broken for the moment. Graznikh to the rescue! He threw her over the shoulder, picked up her glaive and ran as the Elves in the square suddenly found themselves surrounded by the enemy. He pulled the blade out of Falastur's chest as he passed.

A few streets away, he put Whindaër back on her feet. There was no reaction as he shook her. I'm sorry âmbal, he thought, this is tough love but it's for your own good. He removed his leather gauntlet and gave her a hard slap. She cried out and met his eyes with despair in her own.
”Back from the dead, are we?” he asked. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but Graznikh shook her. ”Hey! None of that now!” There was a flash of anger in her eyes. Good.
”Ya wanna live?” he growled in her face. Resignation met him through the bond even though she did not reply. ”Then we need to move! Follow me, I'll do the talking. You just stay close and look dangerous.”
They ran up towards the closest breach, but found their path blocked by Sairion and five other Elves. He hissed as he saw them coming.
”You... you murdered your own brother!”
Whindaër closed her eyes as Graznikh nudged her through the bond. Use it. Use the darkness. It cannot defeat you unless you let it. She opened her eyes and met Sairion's gaze. He clearly expected her to plead for mercy, to claim that it was a mistake, because he paled as Whindaër spoke with a voice devoid of any emotion. ”Get out of my way.”
Someone gasped and Sairion straightened up. ”You will surrender yourself,” he said with a stern voice. ”You will face judgement by Ereinion Gil-Galad for this atrocity!”
”Get out of my way,” Whindaër repeated. Graznikh fed her resolve along with his own unnatural bloodthirst through the bond. Kill him. If you don't he'll kill us both. Bleed him dry!

Sairion motioned for the others to stay back as Whindaër approached him, glaive in hand, the front of her armour stained red from the cut at her neck.
”The blood of kin will be on my hands alone,” he said before turning to Whindaër. ”You cannot hope to defeat me. I trained you, I know your strengths and weaknesses.”
”As I know yours,” she replied. ”But you are not my only teacher.”
Graznikh held back as the two Elves clashed. A group of Orcs came running up from behind, distracting Sairion's guards before they could advance upon him.
She has changed, Sairion thought. She fights differently, and those cold eyes, like ice... He stopped holding back and soon he had her on the defensive. Graznikh groaned. Come on, Whin, you can do it!
Whindaër tried to block the flurry of blows that seemed to come from all directions at once, but too late. She screamed as Sairion's finishing lunge cut through the side of her armour. The sword stuck in the tough leather and Sairion dropped it to kneel before her as she fell, taking her head in his hands.
”I did not want this,” he wept. ”Why did you have to turn on us? Why did you kill him?”
Whindaër stared into his eyes, but said nothing as the darkness surged inside her. She kept staring as the blade of her glaive, now detached from its shaft, slid up between the segments of Sairion's breastplate and pierced his heart.
Graznikh squatted next to her as she removed Sairion's sword.
”No blood?” he wondered.
Whindaër shook her head. ”I am wearing chainmaille underneath.”
”I love ya, you know that? That was the sickest feint I've ever seen! And you got it from me.” He grinned as she reattached the blade to the shaft, fastening the hidden pins that kept it steady. He checked the wound at her throat but found it to be only a scratch.
As they walked out of the wrecked gates, Orcs turned to stare. Some growled as they recognised the Elf, but they kept their distance as Graznikh bared his fangs at them. He felt her hesitate, so he placed a hand on her back and pushed her forward. Then he made her sit down by a campfire well away from the front and held out a flask. When she did not move, he grabbed her hair andtilted her head back as he poured the ghâshpau into her mouth. The surrounding Orcs laughed as she gagged and coughed. Graznikh grinned; her eyes rapidly cleared after the ghâshpau worked its magic in her blood.
”Feeling better?” he asked. She met his eyes and shook her head. How the fuck is she still upright? he wondered as he touched the bond. There was grief, despair and pain so intense it almost made him shiver. But there was no outward sign of the turmoil inside, for which Graznikh was very grateful.
”What the fuck, Graz?!”
Graznikh almost saw red when he heard Shâtaz's voice. I do not need this right now! he thought as he turned to face his former band mate with a snarl. ”What?”
”Isn't this a bit much? I mean, I know you're into Elves and all, but this?!” Shâtaz exclaimed and pointed at Whindaër.
Graznikh shrugged. ”So? I do whatever the fuck I want. It's none o' your business.”
”When Tarnakh hears 'bout this...”
"Tarnakh can go fuck himself,” Graznikh growled. ”And if that's how ya want it, you can too. I've got my mate right here, I'm not going anywhere.” Whindaër met his eyes with a dazed expression.
”That one's going to Lugburz,” a deep voice said. Graznikh and Shâtaz turned to see a large Black Uruk commander towering over them, watching Whindaër with glowing yellow eyes. Graznikh could not stop cursing in his head as the commander went down on one knee and forced Whindaër to look at him.
”Looks like a golug,” he growled. ”Smells like a golug, sounds like a golug, but feels like one of us.” The Uruk stood and brushed the dirt off his knees. ”Lug-durbatar Dachman'll want to see this.”
”No need to,” Graznikh said nonchalantly. ”I can take her east.” Shâtaz was nowhere to be seen as the Uruk gave Graznikh a dangerous grin. ”That's not for you to decide, snaga.”

A few hours later, Graznikh and Whindaër were heading east, retracing the army's footsteps.
”I thought you meant to sell me to this Dachman,” Whindaër said listlessly.
”Are you kidding me? I've seen that guy, he's a bloody moron. Keeps reciting 'dark poetry' about the end of the world every chance he gets. I can't believe someone like him ended up in charge, even that cowardly idiot Shâtaz would do a better job. Probably the only one they had to spare after sorting out the useful folks for the real attack.”
”Real attack?”
”The main army went north o' the mountains, through the Gap on the North-South Road, heading for that Elf-stronghold north of Dunland.”
Whindaër looked at him. ”Eregion? They are even less defended than the haven is – or was...”
”The longer they're occupied, the better our chance of disappearing,” Graznikh grunted.
”Think you not that Dachman will send hunters after us?”
Graznikh gave her a nasty grin. ”Oh, I dearly hope he does. After all, he hates Elves with a passion. And I'm really in the mood to kill someone. I hope he comes himself. Bloody vampire-wannabe, I'd tear his lungs out through his back. Then he can use 'em as wings to flap back and explain to his master how he could fuck up this badly.”

Graznikh kept muttering about tarks and poetry as they went, leaving Whindaër to her own dark thoughts. I am going to fade, and there will be no solace for me in Mandos. Will I even be let in, or will my stained fëa be cast adrift in the Void? I am sorry, father. I am no hero. I was not as strong as you thought me to be.

NOTES:
Snaga - literally 'slave', but generally used either as an insult or to describe anyone of lower rank than the speaker.
Lugburz - the Black Tower
Lug-durbatar - lit. 'tower-ruler', High officer, the highest ranking commanders of Mordor's armies.
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Wolves And Shattered Shields